You've Broken My Girl's Heart
by PissyNovelist
Summary: A two part series that tells the tale of Clarice Starling being rejected by the first man she asked out since meeting Doctor Lecter. Doctor Lecter hears of the incident and isn't amused, believing there is some business to be handled. Rated for violence.
1. Broken Heart

**I girl I genuinely liked broke my heart.**

**So I'ma kill her via fanfic... while her character is in male form… for the lulz XD So, if anyone wants to bitch about Clarice being out of character, don't read it. She kind of loses it in a classy Hannibal way in this fic. Don't like the sound of it? Don't read it. I'm to pissed to think of witty comebacks to throw at the fuckers who hate my writing XD**

"No… no I don't think so Clarice. Sorry" Clark Manion shook his head with a small smirk of distain and smugness towards Clarice Starling who merely pursed her lips and nodded her head.

"Yeah, okay. That's fine." Clarice waved halfheartedly, turning her back and sliding into her car. She pushed the keys into the ignition far too forcefully than she should. She understood all to well why she felt so strongly about the brutally honest rejection.

Clark Manion had been the first man since the Chesapeake incident that she had asked out on a date. In fact… he had been the first man she asked out on a date since meeting Doctor Hannibal Lecter on that faithful morning in the dungeon halls, now that she thought about it. He had been the only man she found smart enough to give her a mental workout, but not quite like the Good Doctor could. Clarice wasn't sure if she was settling or not, seeing as she found herself comparing Clark to Doctor Hannibal Lecter quite often. Either way, asking for a second date from this man was a fairly big step, because her past relationships didn't usually go past the first date. The rejection hit her hard and stung just the same, even though she knew inside that the relationship of dating she withheld with Clark wasn't important.

"Of course he'd say no, Starling. How stupid can you get?" Clarice placed her forehead against the wheel for a moment before driving away. She was left with her own thoughts for the drive home, never stopping her thought process. Clarice liked to talk to herself while alone in her car, withholding the few tears that prickled her eyes from the blow of the rejection.

"I didn't want him to say yes anyway. He's too tall, and he's not intelligent enough. He has far too much hair and he's disgustingly tan… uhg. Of course he couldn't say yes! You're Doctor Lecter's alleged lover. Bride of Frankenstein, Dracula's Queen they called me. No one even wants to be seen with me! I swear, I'll shoot that Tattler editor and make it look like a terrible accident. Just you wait…" Clarice smashed her palm against the wheel in a driven anger, growling at the end of her rant. Clarice reached her home in silence, walking into her kitchen and pouring herself a shot of whiskey. With a double take, she brought the bottle with her to the couch and flicked on the television. All the shows were trash, and there was nothing she could do about it but grin and bear it.

Clarice yawned, taking the in brief seconds when she started to feel dizzy and exhausted. All her strength depleted, and the outside of her vision turned to a black frame. Her breath grew ragged, knowing someone had spiked her drink. She had no idea how they managed, but that wasn't really the first thing to her mind. As she reached for the phone, Clarice felt herself slipping away from her physical body into a pit of black abyss. Her fingertips had barely touched the phone.

She awoke seemingly hours later in a home foreign to her own.

"Are… are you kidding me? This? _Again_?" Clarice opened her eyes forcefully, looking down upon the dress she was sure Doctor Lecter had placed upon her body. The sparkling midnight blue dress glimmered in the rays of moonlight peeking through the purple velvet curtains and black _Jimmy Choo_ six inch heels. She couldn't keep her smile concealed as she looked at the room furnishing. The purples and reds conveyed a dark, yet warm feeling about the room. She pushed herself off the quite comfy bedspread, and made a move to stand. She tumbled backwards to the bed once more.

"How in the world do I walk in these? God damn it, Doctor it's like you don't even know me." Clarice found her poise, walking down the staircase while gripping to the railing for dear life. Clarice strode down the hallway, glancing at the phone for a moment longer than she should have. A hesitant moment passed, no urge to cry for help in her options. She tip toed down, no shred of fear within her as she hobbled into the dining room in a familiar sense.

"Good evening, Clarice." His metallic voice rang through her ears over the muffled cried of no other than Clark Monion.

"I didn't think you'd find it in your caliber to roofie a woman, Doctor." Clarice wiggled an eyebrow, taking her seat next to the captain's chair, paying no attention to Clark's muffled pleas of attention.

"You're quite right. My dearest apologies."

"I feel like I've been here before. You going to cut open his skull. I've seen it before and I don't think it'll be as jarring the second time, Doctor." Clarice sat up straight, a wave of playfulness washing over her.

It seemed as if the Clarice Starling of the F.B.I was dead, lifeless body stashed in the closet with duct tape bonding her. All that stood now was a shell, something foreign to both herself and the Doctor hiding within it and using her body as a vessel to interact with the outside world. Interact is an understatement pertaining to the alter ego taking over… destroy the world seemed more accurate. A little voice within the back of her mind screamed for her to tear off the heels and make a break for it, but the rest of her brain and heart for that matter, screamed otherwise.

Clarice had to face the plain and simple fact that what she felt for Doctor Hannibal Lecter, worldwide famous cannibal, was some sort of abnormal attraction. She couldn't decide whether it was genuine or a Stockholm syndrome type situation (or perhaps Lima syndrome), but she knew it was there. Neither Clarice nor the Doctor could deny it. If a sociopath couldn't deny it, than it must be true; so Clarice concluded.

"De ja vu? No, I do not intend to remove his skull and have him happily eat his own brain. No… this one is for you." Clarice raised her eyebrow once more, leaning against the back of the chair in interest. He took this as a silent cue to continue.

"I hate to say I was eavesdropping, Clarice. I heard him break that beautiful heart of yours and I simply couldn't let him walk away and leave you like that. Surely you have higher standards than men like him."

"Well yes, my standards are quite high. Although, I don't see any reason to hurt him."

"Oh, hush. You thought about it Clarice," The Doctor walked behind her chair and caressed her shoulders softly ", didn't you? Well, if you won't… I suppose I'll have to make him scream an apology. Would you like that, Clarice?"

She remained silent, unsure of where to go next. If she said yes, she would be an accessory to murder and be giving in to the Doctor first. She couldn't have any of that. Yet if she said no, Clarice might as well walk Doctor Lecter to the front door and let him leave her once again for years. So Clarice sat with her mouth clamped shut and an undecided glint in her eye. He smirked whipping out his harpy in a flash, not a flinch emanating from his female companion.

"I won't be insulted if you tell me to stop, Clarice." He inched closer to the hysteric man boned to the chair. His tears and snot coated his face, trying to muffle the words 'help! Tell him to stop' with no anvil.

Clarice looked at Clark and felt her anger from earlier swell. She felt herself losing control, something that didn't happen as often as people would think. Her composer fell and shattered into a million pieces upon the cutting room floor. Everything she had created herself to be a good F.B.I agent tumbled away from her knowledge, a blind rage filling her to the brim. Clarice's subconscious thought through the rage as it so often did, being the only voice of reason. She was distracted for a moment, wondering if this was how her male accomplice felt before he was about to murder someone who was rude to him. Clarice shook the stupid question away, knowing that he never let his heart rate go over eighty-five. Her hand twitched and itched for the feeling of the cool harpy knife handle against her sweaty palms, but instead she watched as Doctor Lecter cut away the duct tape from his mouth.

"Cl-cl-clarice, I'm s-s-s-so sorry. Tha-a-at date is a d-d-done deal. It wa-a-as a clouded judgme-e-ent," His words came out slurred and pushed together as if a three year old was speaking through a terrible tantrum ", don't l-let the c-c-cannibal fr-e-eak eat m-m-me." His rude pet name for the Doctor pushed her over the edge, slamming her hands against the nicely set table and pushing her seat back. Clarice stood, nearly toppling over from the height of her heels and ripped the sparkling knife from the Good Doctor's neatly operated on hand. His pale white scar caught the corner of her eye, merely taking the reattached appendage's fully functionality as a plus to his precise and clean cut from the butcher knife.

But Doctor Lecter's surgery was truly the last thing on her mind as she raised the knife over her head and made a stabbing motion into the side of Clark Manion's neck which was vibrating from the constant girl tone shrieks. A strong force stopped the arm as the tip of the blade pressed itself against the soft skin of his prisoner's neck. Clarice faced the Doctor with a glare, readjusting her attitude immediately as to ensure not to be rude.

"Doctor-" Clarice breathed, interrupted by a rare chuckle from the man.

"I just nearly saw you kill a man out of pure spite. You may call me Hannibal. We're there." Clarice took a step back and surrendered the knife to him.

"You're quite lucky he stopped me. Whatever Hannibal does to you is going to seem like a walk along the beach." A deep growl she didn't know she was able to make crawled up her throat and past her lips. Clark cried like a child from minutes while the pair marveled at his ability to make pitches that high.

"Oh, I won't be doing a thing. I'm waiting for you to collect yourself and keep calm." Hannibal raised a simple eyebrow, not looking at either of them as he spoke softly through the thick air of the room. Moments passed while he watched her breath and stare at the bound man.

"Okay… I'm calm." Clarice held her hand out to which Hannibal happily slipped the knife into her slender palm.

**Part one of two. **

**Next chapter is going to be gory, and violent. Don't like it? Don't read it. I'm in not the mood to get reviews saying that Clarice is out of character. I would never kill anyone, but once the girl persona os Clark broke my heart, I wanted to throw her ass in traffic. **

**Rejection does that to a person. Deal with it -.-**

**xoxoPN**


	2. Mending Alike

**Now for the conclusion of murdering the stupid bitch who messed with my heart :)**

"Tsk tsk… my dear. Go change out of your beautiful dress. I have clothes for you upon the chair in my room. It's the room on the end opposite of yours. Come down to the cellar after." He pointed to the beautiful piece of art that covered her every curve perfectly. She curtsied making a steady walk up the stairs. Clarice barely had time to take in and snoop around his room for she was so eager to exact her revenge with the man that took her eye… then stomped on it.

The shirt he gave her was big, halfway down her thighs and nearly hung off her one shoulder. His pants hung off her hips in the most tantalizing way. Clarice assumed she should fear the tints of blood stains from his earlier endeavors upon the clothing, but she could care less. A swell filled her heart with pending happiness and she jogged down the stairs in bare feet to the open cellar door. Clarice found Clark restrained upon the table with Hannibal setting out a number of medical tools. He turned to her with his softest expression, stepping past the crying man upon the table and touched Clarice's cheek with upmost care. He stood behind her, pulling her hair unto a low pony tail. Hannibal's smooth hands brushed back all Clarice's hair, in no rush to move from the quite calming situation.

"Have fun." Hannibal whispered into her ear, walking up the stairs.

Clarice was dumbfounded. Had he really expected her to do this without him by her side? She supposed the answer was yes as she heard the door shut and some footsteps, then piano filling the entire house with a serenade.

"Thank god he's gone. Get me out!" Clark whimpered, tears, saliva, and snot coating his face.

"He left me because the first one is the most important…" Her figure cast a shadow from the florescent light across the shaking Clark's body, her deadly features barely tangible.

"Don't kill me…" Clark managed to say through his hyperventilation. Clarice shook her head and grabbed the harpy knife, observing the way it shined in the light.

"I have to kill you." Clarice spoke all to softly to be deemed comfortable, sauntering to the medical table.

"Why?" The man cried, folding like a cheap lawn chair.

"To move on. You don't seem to understand that you were the first man since meeting_ him_. You, Clark, would have been my entire world. I would have given you everything because you were that one guy. But you broke my heart. So, as symbolism, I have to kill you to move on with my new life." She sighed as she explained, as if her point should be obvious to the youngest of children. She sliced off his clothes except his boxers and discarded them to the damp cellar floor. She rolled the tool table over, looking amongst her choices. Clarice ran her hand over the air above each tool, as if searching for a magnetic feeling on which tool to use first.

"I can be that for you. Come on, Claire." Clark tried to put up a strong front as he watched Clarice eye the harpy once more.

"I hate it when people call me Claire." Clarice stabbed Clark in the stomach, blood spurting upon her face. The warmth of the red liquid made her feel strangely fuzzy inside. She noted the piano played had stopped once Clark had started screaming.

"This is for how you caught my eye." Clarice retracted the harpy and placed it down upon the table and replaced it with a scalpel. She slid the knife deep into his cornea, Clark squirming and screaming like a girl.

"And this is how _you_ kissed _me_ on the first date, making me believed you wanted me. Oh, and that nasty little smirk of self-satisfaction when you rejected me." Clarice left the scalpel in Clark's and grabbed another knife, cutting apart his lips. More blood and bits of flesh coated Clarice's hands, face, and clothes. She cut his bottom lip, right down to his chin. The flesh fell awkwardly, exposing torn muscle and bone. Clarice stabbed right below Clark's chin, muting his shriek as the knife punctured into his tongue and touched the roof of his mouth. She left the knife there, not wanting him to die just yet. She could see him slipping, but she had one more matter of business to tend to.

"And this is for breaking my heart before I even gave it to you." Clarice claimed her favorite knife, the harpy, once more and stabbed into Clark's chest cavity. She repeatedly jabbed in the general area of his heart until she was sure Clark was dead. Clarice retracted the harpy and turned on her heels away from the body, seeing Hannibal standing at the foot of the stairs with a blank face.

"How do you feel, Clarice?" Hannibal tilted his head, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows.

And that did Clarice in. All tattered remains of herself, any _sanity_ she had left… gone.

She dropped the harpy upon the floor with a clunk, stepped forward and pressing her lips to Hannibal's. She refrained from placing her hands on him, worried of Clark's blood spoiling his beautiful suit. Hannibal caressed her face softly as he pressed his lips to hers. He pulled away for a moment, letting a shuddering breath escape him.

"Come now, let's clean you off Clarice." He smiled something genuine as he led her up the stairs to the en suite in his room. Clarice sat upon the marble vanity, swinging her legs and raising her arms at the elbows as Hannibal waited for the sink water to warm up. The Doctor took a moment, running his tongue along the blood dripping appendages.

"Clark wasn't rude, _per say_." Clarice cited, tilting her head to one side as Hannibal ran his soft tongue over her arms and hands.

"No, but he didn't sit right with me. He broke my girl's heart in a terribly rude way." Hannibal stopped licking, looking into Clarice's eyes in a most comical way. Clarice smiled and shook her head as he continued licking. Once satisfied, he placed her hands under the warm running water and washed her clean of all blood and flesh. Hannibal stood behind her as she scrubbed, wrapping two protective arms around her waist.

"_Doctor_, I'm an old school type girl. I'm not simply claimed." Clarice shook of his grip in a joking manner, knowing where her heart belonged. He stepped beside her with an amused look, clearing his throat.

"Clarice," A fake southern drawl passed his lips and earned a half insulted look from her ", will ya be my girlfriend?"

"Not after that little display." Clarice dried her hands off with a towel passed to her by Hannibal, a smile upon her refreshed features. She placed a kiss upon his cheek, finally able to place her clean hands upon his neck to keep him close.

"A sociopath and an ex F.B.I agent. Who knew." Clarice pulled her hair down, walking back into Hannibal's bedroom.

"Ex F.B.I agent? I'll grab you something clean to sleep in." He elaborated the acronym, placing a hand upon Clarice' shoulder as she sat upon his bed.

"Yes ex agent. After that stunt, do you think I should go back? And no thank you, clean won't be needed." Clarice slipped the bloodied clothes off slipping between his comforter and sheets. He attempted to suppress a lust filled look, but failed.

"The stunt of taking someone's life?"

"No. I understand that killing people is a crime, but I do that daily basis on being in the F.B.I. Not only that, but if I wanted to go back I could say it was a moment of insanity. Broken heart, cornered by you… I thought more of kissing you and letting you lick my arms free of blood and slipping between your sheets in my underwear. Yet, I suppose killing Clark would be a good reason to, I didn't really take that into account." Clarice watched him undress form his suit in the most casual way, as if they've been married for years and it was just another night after the opera.

There was nothing strange for Clarice, and there was nothing strange for Hannibal. They both felt like they belonged, as if they were each other's missing halves. The abnormal normality of it all gave the couple a new hope for a brighter day in their future they tried to deny would eventually exist. Clarice tried to deny her feelings for such a man, while Hannibal tried to deny that he could ever like a country girl. They had both been against each other's rules of common society and normality, but as Hannibal promised to clean her mess up later in the night and slipped under the silken sheets next to her…

They decided that rules were truly meant to be broken.


End file.
